A Farewell to Yarns jj-2

by Jill Churchill

  The minute she got home, she phoned Shelley. "I made coffee cake this afternoon," she said seductively. "If you'll come over and eat some with me, I'll tell you something that'll knock your socks off."

  “I'm not dressed.... Both socks?"

  “Both socks," Jane assured her.

  A moment later Shelley came in the kitchen door with a long car coat on over her nightgown and robe. She was wearing a pair of Paul's big snow boots, and there were curlers in her hair. "This had better be good.”

  Jane peeked around the corner. Mike was watching MTV over the top of his chemistrybook. Todd was building a Lego space station. She knew Katie was upstairs on the phone. She put the coffee cake and plates on the table, and when they were seated, she said, "The National Enquirer would set me up for life for this information, which neither of us are ever going to tell anyone. Agreed? I don't think anybody but one other person in the world knows."

  “Has this bazaar baked your brain? What are you babbling about?”

  Jane lowered her voice and leaned forward. "Richie Divine didn't die. He's Albert Howard.”

  “What!"

  “Shhh. I mean it. I stood next to him in the choir tonight, and since I wasn't supposed to sing, I just listened. Suddenly it hit me that I'd heard him before. I swear it's true, Shelley."

  “Jane, as your friend—"

  “I know, you think I've gone bats. But I haven't. Listen, that plane crash he was in—the plane blew up in midair, and the bodies were never found. Mel told me. His sister had been to the last concert, and he remembered the details.”

  Shelley leaned back, nonplused. "But why pretend to be somebody like Albert Howard?"

  “I've been thinking about that. There was a story that the mob was after him for testifying against them. Mel told me that, too. I'd either forgotten that or never known it."

  “That's why they planted a bomb or whatever on the plane," Shelley said. "I read about it in a magazine."

  “Well, if he'd missed the plane for some reason, it would have been logical to go along and play dead. It was the Only way to be safe from them in the future. If they'd known he'd lived, they'd have just kept after him until they succeeded."

  “Oh, Jane. I don't know—"

  “Shelley, if you'd heard him singing, you'd believe it. His voice is deeper now that he's older, but I swear it's the same man."

  “But they don't look a thing alike.

  “No, but neither does Sharon Kellick look like herself."

  “Who in the hell—? Oh, yes. That woman down the block who had the face-lift, and somebody called the police on her for housebreaking in her own house."

  “Remember that show we saw on PBS a year ago about the plastic surgeons who work on severely malformed children? They made perfectly grotesque faces look normal. Imagine how easily someone like that could make a handsome face look ordinary. Richie Divine could have paid for the best doctor and bound him to secrecy. Maybe there was even a federal witness program then."

  “I don't know, but they're not authorized to blow up planes."

  “I didn't mean they did, but after it happened, he could have asked for help getting a good plastic surgeon."

  “Okay, I'll give you that. But what about his hair? It doesn't look dyed, and I've never heard of a way to make your hair grow a different color."

  “But it sure looked bleached when he was a star. Nobody who isn't an albino has hair that'snaturally that blond. Maybe this is the color it was all along.”

  Shelley nibbled some cake thoughtfully. "Say, this is good. What about build? Albert Howard is sort of dumpy."

  “Come on, Albert Howard is fifteen years older than Richie Divine was. Anybody can put on weight, even if age doesn't do it for them. Especially if there's an incentive like saving your own life. I could look like a blimp in a month without nearly as good a reason.”

  In spite of herself, Shelley was coming around to believing it. "Think about poor Fiona. All the horrible things the press said about her for marrying again so soon after Richie's death. And she took it all in silence. Now we know why. She wasn't marrying somebody else. She was remarrying Richie. She knows that, doesn't she?"

  “She must. They married only a year or so after Richie 'died.' “

  They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Shelley said, "That's why Albert doesn't seem to mind that room you told me about. The shrine to Richie. It's a shrine to him."

  “Of course! I'd forgotten about that."

  “Do you suppose anyone else knows?"

  “I'm sure they don't. Unless maybe a plastic surgeon. It's too big a secret to have been kept for so long by anybody but the two people most concerned with his safety. Albert and Fiona wouldn't dare let anyone know for fear they'd tell. It's like I said about The National Enquirer. You and I won't say anything about it, but lots of people would."

  “Oh, Jane. I'm almost sorry I know. It's going to kill me to keep this to myself. Just imagine, we know Richie Divine. It's like finding out your kid's guitar teacher is Elvis, risen from the dead."

  “Good comparison. I guess Richie could leave all the fame behind but couldn't stay away from the music. That's why he's in the choir."

  “That was taking a risk of discovery, wasn't it?"

  “Not much. I don't think he ever does solos. And even though I'm absolutely bereft of musical talent, I've got an unusually good ear for it. I don't think many people could have made the connection. It's not as if the choir is ever going to do 'Red Christmas' and feature him. A different kind of music entirely must have seemed safe. And it has been."

  “It's a shame we can't ask Fiona about it. Find out how they carried it off. Why Richie wasn't on that plane. How it feels to have a weird secret like this."

  “I know. I'd love to talk to her about it. But we don't dare. It would scare her to death that we'd shoot off our mouths to other people. She doesn't know us well enough to trust us."

  “I don't know how I'll look at him again without gawking or accidentally calling him Richie."

  “You'll manage, Shelley, and so will I. We have to. In a way, we have his life in our hands. And we have to start tomorrow."

  “The bazaar! I'd actually forgotten about it for a few blissful minutes. Have you finished the afghan?"

  “Yes, come look.”

  When they went into the living room, Mike turned off the television and got off the sofa so Jane could spread out her work of art. After Shelley gushed for a moment, he said, "Mrs. Nowack, could I talk to you a minute? In the kitchen?”

  Jane made a point of getting busy helping Todd pick up all the pieces of his project. Mike was undoubtedly asking Shelley about sizes for her. In the past, the kids had always consulted with Steve about shopping for her. Amazing how long a time it took to sort everything into new niches when one member of the family was gone. "Here I come!" she said as she headed back to the kitchen.

  Mike, grinning, told them both good night and disappeared. "Shelley, do you want to take some of this cake home? I made a double recipe."

  “I'd better. I need some reason to explain to Paul why I went tearing off in my nightgown. Other than the real one."

  “Now, remember, we can't tell anybody in the world about Richie Divine."

  “I promise," Shelley said.

  Jane wondered if she could keep the promise herself.

  Twenty-four

  On Monday morning, the bazaar began well. It had been a risk, having it so late in the year. Most craft sales took place in September or October, when people started thinking about Christmas shopping. The church committee had decided to catch people at the end of their shopping, when they had only a few gifts left to buy and were desperate to complete their lists. When Jane pulled into Fiona's driveway at eight-thirty, there were already a few cars parked on the street with women waiting for the bazaar to open at nine-thirty. It looked like the marketing ploy might just work. Fortunately, it promised to be an extraordinarily balmy day. That would help a lot.

&n
bsp; Jane and Shelley doled out the signs to the group who had volunteered to post them. They went around to the various rooms making sure all the items were properly marked. Jane was to take the first shift in what they'd dubbed the "Wreath Room" because that's where most of those items had ended up. It was astonishing the things people made wreaths of; grapevines were the most popular, next to real or plasticpine boughs. But there were also wreaths made from pinecones, dozens of tiny foil-wrapped packages, and even one kitchen monstrosity made of pastel sponges tied in bow shapes and interspersed with dried flowers and miniature kitchen utensils.

  Jane wouldn't have to actually sell anything. All sales took place at the long table by the front door where three women already waited. Everyone else did nothing more than stand around looking friendly and watching for shoplifters.

  “It's amazing the things people will try to walk off with," Shelley said. "Last year I caught a woman stuffing a jar of potpourri into her coat pocket. It bulged like a horrible growth. I can't imagine she thought I wouldn't notice."

  “It's astonishing to think people would take Christmas things from a church," Jane said. "What do you say to somebody who's stealing?"

  “I just said, 'Let me take that to the front desk for you, and you can pay for it when you leave.' It worked; she hauled it out, slammed it down on the table, and stomped out as if I'd insulted her. I don't know what I'd have done if she'd denied it. What you have to look out for are the ones who come in pairs. One of them will engage you in a deep discussion about some item and stand so that you can't see what the other one is doing. That's why you need to be on your feet most of the time. So you can dodge around and keep an eye on everybody."

  “I feel like a prison guard."

  “Don't worry. There aren't that many who come to lift stuff. Mostly it's fun to stand around and gab with people. I guess it's time to open up.

  There was a substantial line formed when they let people in. Some of the first were the barracudas—those canny shoppers, antique dealers among them, who came early and flew through fast with an eye out for an accidental bargain, something they could snatch up and resell at an inflated price. The quilt that had been marked so low would have been such an item if Shelley hadn't marked it up and purchased it herself. The early shoppers also included those women who were on their way to work and had to shop fast. The first hour, therefore, was hectic, but as the morning wore on, the pace became more leisurely, and Jane found herself enjoying the opportunity to visit with various neighbors she hadn't seen for a while.

  At eleven, her replacement came, and she wandered off to the living room to see how Shelley was getting along. "My afghan's gone," Jane said, disappointed. It had looked so pretty draped over the piano, and she'd anticipated at least one last look at it.

  “Yes, a woman bought it the first hour. Are you on a break? Suzie Williams was supposed to take over for me, and she actually had the grace to send a replacement. She's putting her coat away. I'll meet you in the kitchen when she's ready to take over.”

  The kitchen and family room had been set aside for the use of the workers. Signs on the doors said: STAFF ONLY. DO NOT ENTER. Jane went to the kitchen, got a cup of coffee and a croissant and joined Fiona in the family room. It was only the second time she'd seen her this morning, the first being when she let them in the house hours ago.

  “It's going wonderfully well, isn't it?" Fiona said. "I was just speaking to the women at the front, and they say they've got nearly a thousand dollars already. Well, I better get along. I've got to stand guard on the ground floor guest bedroom."

  “Oh, no, Fiona. I didn't assign you to that. We don't want you to have to do any more than you already have."

  “It's quite all right. Ethel Besley called and said her car wouldn't start. I'm just taking her place until she gets here.”

  Jane made one more feeble protest, offering to take Ethel's duty, but was relieved when Fiona insisted on filling in. Jane desperately needed to sit down. She slouched into a comfortable leather sofa and nibbled her croissant as she stared at the pictures on the opposite wall. How different this room seemed now. The first time she'd seen it, she'd been shocked at the callousness of having a room devoted to Richie Divine that poor Albert had to look at every day and be reminded of his own lack of renown. Not it seemed a cozy, friendly place, a room where Albert and Fiona could recall the past while enjoying the safe, obscure lives they'd made for themselves.

  “Jesus! This kind of thing brings out the best and the worst in people," Shelley said, coming in and flinging herself into a deeply upholstered chair. "I had a woman ask me to mark up a price, because it was such a good cause. Then I had a ghoulish threesome who made no bones about the fact that they'd come to see what they could ferret out about the murder next door. Didn't even pretend to want to buy anything, just asked me nasty questions."

  “Probably undercover agents for VanDyne," Jane said. "I wonder if he's making any progress. It's terrible to admit, but I'd almost forgotten about it in the rush to get this thing going."

  “Some detective. The day before yesterday you were going on about how you had the solution on the tip of your tongue. Now you've solved another little mystery, and you've forgotten the murders altogether."

  “No, not altogether. I still think there's one little something that we already know that could unravel the whole thing. I just can't quite grasp it. As for the other—" She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone else was around. "—that wasn't the solution to anything. It was just a stunning revelation of an interesting fact."

  “Interesting? That's an understatement. By the way, where's Albert? I haven't seen him all day."

  “Probably hiding from the ravening hordes. I can't blame him.”

  The question of Albert's whereabouts was answered for them a few minutes later when he came staggering in the back door with two Kentucky Fried Chicken barrels. "I thought the workers might need lunch," he said.

  They stuffed themselves and returned to work. Jane took a two-hour shift at the front table, a busy job but one she got to do sitting down. When she was done with that and another hour filling in for a woman whose child had been sent home from school with chicken pox, she came back for another break.

  There wasn't anyone in the kitchen or family room this time, and she was glad to be spared having to make conversation. Her voice was already getting fuzzy from all the talking she'd done. Her brain was getting even fuzzier. She sank back into the sofa, gazing sightlessly at the wall of pictures.

  This had been one of the most frantic weeks of her life. Except for the quiet morning with Mike yesterday, she'd been running the whole time, ever since the day Phyllis and Bobby arrived. It wasn't just physical, it was mental exhaustion as well. Images of the past week were getting jumbled in her mind. Phyllis's body being taken away, setting up the bazaar, John and Chet Wagner yelling at Bobby, Mike's band concert, the church choir concert, the fight between Bobby and Mr. Finch, the funeral with Mel VanDyne rushing her past the news cameras. And someplace in all that mental rubble, there was something important they'd all overlooked. Something so small and ordinary that no one had noticed it in the pressure of the week's extraordinary events.

  She was tired, almost nodding off, when her eyes suddenly focused on one of the pictures on the opposite wall. Without knowing quite why, she got up and went to look at it more closely.

  Of course!

  With a click she feared must be almost audible, things started falling into place. She stood back for a moment, stunned by what she was thinking. It could be. No, it had to be. Looking around to make sure she wasn't observed, Jane took the picture off the wall and stuffed it up under her sweater. Squeezing between shoppers, she went to the front closet and got out her coat and purse. Shelley was at the sales table. "Where are you going, Jane?" she asked.

  “I've got to run an errand, Shelley. I'll only be a little while. It's important." Before Shelley could question her further, Jane ran out the door and headed for hom
e. Once inside her own house, she took the picture out and studied it again. Then she dialed the phone. On the third ring, Mel VanDyne answered. "I've got it," she said. "At least, I've got half of it, and you can figure out the other half."

  “Jane, what in the world—?"

  “I have to meet you. How about that coffee shop in the mall? Here's what you have to do: Get hold of John Wagner, and have him meet us. Make him bring along that briefcase thing of Phyllis's with everything in it. I have to show you something in it."

  “Jane, just tell me—"

  “I can't. It's something you have to see, and I have to see it, too, to be sure I'm right. I'm leaving right now. See you there.”

  She hung up, stuffed the picture into a shopping bag, and headed for the mall. Before going to the coffee shop, she gave a bookstore clerk a tough five minutes finding a book she needed. Then, armed with her evidence, she dashed to the coffee shop and sat down to read hurriedly through the book while she waited.

  Twenty-five

  Mel VanDyne and John Wagner arrived within moments of each other. Jane had taken over a corner booth which afforded relative privacy. "Please sit down," she said firmly.

  The men exchanged looks that might have been surprise or amusement, but they did as she asked and sat down facing her. Jane noticed that Van Dyne saw to it that Wagner was on the inside. Was that because he thought the man might try to make a getaway?

  “First, I have to clear up a couple of things," Jane said to John Wagner. "How did you have a key to the house where Phyllis was staying?"

  “She gave it to me," he said. Jane glanced at Van Dyne, who stared back blankly. Apparently this was something that had already been cleared up to his satisfaction.

  “Second, and I know this has nothing to do with the murders, but I want to know—have you ever met Albert Howard?"